


Ficlets for 007 Fest 2017

by timetospy



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 19:12:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 18,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11675328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timetospy/pseuds/timetospy
Summary: A series of short ficlets. Tags/warnings in the notes for each individual chapter.





	1. Day 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents: 00Q, flirting, Q can’t dance
> 
> Warnings: fluff

Bond stood near a column in the hall, murmuring to one of the lovely ladies that seemed to attach themselves to him like magnets. Q glowered in Bond’s direction, then turned back to Lewis, who was still trying to sell Q on a piece of code that Q knew was riddled with security concerns even as it was described to him.

He nodded politely, and for the forty-second time that night wished that these soirees weren’t mandatory for upper-level staff.

Which didn’t explain why Bond was here, but knowing him he probably enjoyed them. High-pitched laughter cut through the music and drilled into Q’s ear. Whichever woman had attached herself to Bond was obviously enjoying herself.

“Sorry, could you excuse me?” Q pushed himself away from the table without further comment and stalked across the room. It wasn’t personal. God knew Bond wasn’t even thinking about his Quartermaster. But Q could only stand so much before he hit his limit, and he’d already been dangerously close listening to Lewis.

He stalked across the dance floor, littered with only a half-dozen couples, towards the exit, and outside, and relative peace. At least for the next few minutes. He couldn’t very well leave yet. He’d only been there half an hour.

“Where are you running off to?”

Q froze for an instant, then turned to see Bond leaning against a column, a martini in his hand.

“I’d think that was fairly obvious, wouldn’t you?” Q replied, nodding towards the door.

“And miss the best part of the evening?” Bond pushed himself upright and took a step towards Q.

“And which part is that?” Q said, fighting not to take a step back as Bond suddenly occupied all of Q’s personal space.

“The dancing, of course.”

Q pinched the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. He’d forgotten. Or, more accurately, had expunged the detail from his mind because it hadn’t applied to him in the slightest. Someone, likely an over-zealous MP, had decided that this soiree was to have a dance competition.

“I’m not interested,” Q said, as diplomatically as possible.

“Oh, but I am.” 

“And what’s that to do with me?” Q’s hand went to his hip.

“A friendly competition?” Bond said, infuriating eyebrow raised.

“Well, the joke’s on you then, because I don’t have the slightest clue how to dance.”

Q played it as a point of pride, but he sincerely regretted his two left feet and lack of coordination for anything more complicated than stairs - and even those were tricky on bad days.

“You don’t know how to dance?” The incredulity in Bond’s voice just about made Q want to turn on his heel and storm away. “Come here,” he said, low and far too familiar. “I’ll show you.”

Q shivered, drowning in the meltwater of Bond’s glacier eyes. Bond’s hand was extended towards his, and contrary to his better judgement, Q took it and allowed himself to be led to a far corner of the dance floor.


	2. Day 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents: 00q, MoneyTanner, birthdays, ridiculousness
> 
> Warnings: none? Fluff?

Q settled into the circular booth under the front window of the pub clutching his pint. He scanned the crowd - the usual after-work set in his local, a cozy dark hole-in-the-wall that proudly proclaimed to have been a pub since 1563. It had been rebuilt sometime in the late 1980s, and was all nostalgic dark wood and manufactured kitsch but Q loved it all the more for its dilapidated faux charm.

Moneypenny slid into the booth beside him, staring into her pint, and they clinked their mugs together and nodded in solidarity before taking long draughts.

“Another year gone,” Moneypenny sighed and stretched her legs out under the table, leaning back in the booth and staring at the ceiling.

“Well, it hasn’t been all bad.”

Moneypenny lifted her left hand, the engagement ring glinting on her finger. “No, I suppose not,” she conceded. “I _never_ thought Bill was going to get around to it, though.”

Q laughed. Tanner and Moneypenny had been dancing around each other for years until Moneypenny had finally cornered him in the break room one day and asked him to dinner. The rest had happened in fairly quick succession, ending with the engagement about three weeks prior.

“Well, happy birthday anyway,” Q said. “I did try to get the meeting cancelled.”

“I know. And thanks. Bill and I will celebrate later,” she waggled her eyebrows.

Q wrinkled his nose. “Not a mental image I needed, thanks.”

“Mm. And I suppose you think I enjoy hearing about yours?”

“I know you do, you’ve told me.”

“I still don’t know how you managed to tame the bastard.”

Q laughed. “Tamed? Hardly. I wouldn’t want to in---” Q’s voice died in his throat as he saw the knowing look on Moneypenny’s face.

“Oh? Then why is your boyfriend standing outside in the rain like one of those cheesy romance films?”

“Wha--” Q twisted around in his seat, and sure enough, Bond was there, sans umbrella (because he was ‘tougher than a bit of rain, darling’), staring at him through the window. They had a perfectly silent conversation in facial expressions that went something like

‘Why are you standing out there?’

‘I wasn’t invited’

‘Moneypenny won’t mind’

‘She’s more your friend’

‘Why are you here anyway?’

‘Keep an eye on you.’

Q rolled his eyes at that.

“He wants to know if he can come in,” Q said to Moneypenny.

She twisted around in her seat as well, and gestured for him to join them. Q emphasized Bond’s ridiculousness with a perfectly arched eyebrow.

Bond deflated and stepped towards the door. 

“Once a party crasher, always a party crasher,” Moneypenny said, and took another drink.

“I’m sorry,” Q replied.

But when Bond stepped through the door, he wasn’t alone. Tanner shuffled into the pub behind Bond, a little disoriented and a bit more than a little dishevelled. Moneypenny swallowed a squeal.

“I hope this suffices as a birthday gift,” Bond said as the two took their places at the table. “I went through a bit of trouble to acquire it.”

“He means he jumped me in the loo during a break and smuggled me out of the building under Mallory’s nose,” Tanner explained.

“Definitely not tamed,” Moneypenny said. “I’m not sure if I should thank you or stab you with a spoon for all the paperwork I’m going to have land on my desk over this.”

“I think Bill’ll make it worth your while,” Bond said meaningfully.

Q groaned.

“Ah, I believe that is my cue to take someone home,” Bond said and grinned as he drained what remained of Q’s pint.

“Thanks again, James,” Tanner said and wrapped a soggy arm around Moneypenny’s shoulders. She glared at him, but didn’t remove herself.

“Anytime.”

“He doesn’t mean that,” Q said as they slid out of the table.

“And he doesn’t mean that,” Bond said easily as he wrapped an arm around Q’s waist.

Moneypenny and Tanner looked at each other and simultaneously rolled their eyes.

“Goodnight,” they called together as Bond and Q left the pub.


	3. Day 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents: 00q, ALL THE FLUFF, Holiday
> 
> Warnings: none

It had been a very long time since he’d allowed himself the luxury of a lie-in. But this was an exception - a lazy holiday in Majorca with Q, the beach waiting just outside. James could hear the waves from bed, calling him for a morning swim. But bed was comfortable, and Q was basically a human blanket at the moment, sprawled across his chest and nestled under his chin, and James couldn’t bear to wake the man up simply to go swimming. There would be all day for that. They had no plans, no problems, and nowhere to be.

James sighed, stretched without disturbing his partner - a phrase that never failed to make him grin just a hair - and wrapped Q loosely in his arms, fully intending to doze for another hour at least.

He was completely relaxed for perhaps the first time in years - the sun streaming in through the sliding glass door that separated the bedroom from the beach warmed him, the thought of three weeks of doing nothing but swimming and sleeping and eating and fucking sounded like heaven.

_Mangoes_ , James thought decadently. _We’ll have mangoes for breakfast._ _And scrambled eggs._ The fact that he could spare a thought for planning breakfast sent a warm thrill through him.

Q stirred.

“Good morning, darling,” he murmured into Q’s hair.

“Mmmmfffgr,” Q replied. 

Q’s lips moved against James’ chest, and James could only assume that the combination of audible consonants was meant to be ‘good morning’ in return. He bent to press a kiss to the top of Q’s head. As he did, Q - contrary as always - lifted his head and James ended up making contact with his nose instead.

Which made Q laugh, so James supposed it wasn’t a waste entirely.

“You look beautiful,” James said, sifting his fingers through Q’s outrageous - and adorable - bed head. “More than usual, I mean.”

Q chuckled and kissed James thoroughly, morning breath be damned.

“You old charmer,” he said after, nuzzling at James’ jaw with his nose.

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“I’ve a gorgeous man laid out across my chest. How else am I meant to respond to that?”

“And here I thought you’d been spent.”

“That was last night. I’ve had _hours_ to recover.”

“Mmm…”

The mangoes and scrambled eggs were delivered promptly at noon.


	4. Day 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents: 00q, angst with a happy ending
> 
> Warnings: angst - but it’s resolved. (What is happening to me? Where is my cruel, cruel heart?)

“Come over to mine,” Q says, saucy grin on his face.

And Bond wants to. Wants more than anything to follow Q to his flat, make love to him instead of the rough fucking they’ve done in Q’s office and the private loos. But that would be admitting sentiment - and he couldn’t allow himself that luxury.

“I don’t think I can wait that long,” he whispers instead, palming Q’s erection through his trousers. And Q chuckles, and relents, and something inside James cracks a little more.

“And then Artie jumped up on the counter and slid right across it, knocking the teapot straight onto the floor,” Q shakes his head and devours another forkful of his shepherd’s pie.

_It’s not a date_ , Bond tells himself. _It’s just lunch_. But he knows it’s a lie, knows that he’s playing a dangerous game.

They’ve been fucking for two months, and this is the first time Bond has allowed himself to actually talk to Q for any length of time. He’s charming and a bit awkward, and James slides a little further - refusing Q’s invitation to stay for dessert is a monumental task. But he politely refuses, citing a rather mundane excuse, and takes his leave.

He can’t help but notice the falter in Q’s expression, even as he smiles, says ‘oh, of course. I understand.’

“Come back to mine,” Q says, eyes searching James’ face.

It’s nearly impossible for James to form his excuse. Q had sought him out in the Double-Oh’s offices, made a concerted effort to find him, and James finds it impossible to merely brush him off - but he tries.

“Late meeting with M,” he tries, but it sounds so hollow, and he knows it won’t fool Q.

Q squints at him, and Bond knows the jig is up. He readies himself for the inevitable.

“Why do you always do that?”

The hurt in Q’s voice cuts James to the quick, but he swallows it down.

“Do what?”

“Make excuses. Are you allergic to cats?”

Bond’s stomach clenched. Q’s precocious intellect balanced precariously on a certain naive understanding of others’ motives - surprising given his integral position in Six - and Bond hated to be the one to disabuse him of his rose-colored glasses.

But he couldn’t bring himself to lie outright. Not to Q.

“No. I’m not allergic to cats.”

Q’s face fell.

“Oh. Oh I see.”

“Q, I--”

“No. It’s okay. I understand. Eve was right, after all. I was being stupid.” Q turned away and began to walk away.

Bond was torn. On one hand, this was exactly what he’d hoped for - his dilemma had been decided. Q would no longer be a quandry. But he couldn’t. He physically couldn’t allow Q to be so devastated.

“Wait.”

Q stopped, turned to face him slowly.

“What is it, Bond?”

Bond winced. He’d been calling him James. 

“I’m not very good at this,” he began, and that drew a snort from Q.

“The understatement of the year.”

Bond swallowed the retort and forged ahead.

“And… and I’ve pushed you away because it’s all I know how to do.”

Q’s eyes went wide, wondering, and he took an involuntary step forward. Bond swallowed.

“And I’m sorry.”

Bond stood, hands in his pockets, staring at Q, waiting.

“Would you like to learn?”


	5. Day 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents: Dark!James, Madeleine Swann, alternate explanations of Spectre
> 
> Warnings: Dark!James. James is evil. Seriously.

She thought she’d seen glimpses of the furthest reaches of his darkness, the shadows that crept over his soul.

But she’d been wrong. She’d been so very, very wrong.

They were in Vienna, renting a room above a cafe near Resselpark. She bought fresh flowers at the market that morning for the kitchen table, but it all seemed so terribly far removed now. Irrelevant. The daisies and geraniums would wilt and moulder on the table and nobody would ever know.

“But I’m not valuable anymore. Everyone is dead who would think me of any use.”

“Oh yes. Absolutely. And who is responsible for that again?” The smile on his face chilled her to her very core.

“But you were working for MI6, to stop them…”

“I was? Oh, yes. Clever of me. It happened that my objectives and that of the British Intelligence community had been more-or-less parallel for years. I ‘resigned’ when I needed more autonomy, but I have to say that the freedom granted with the license is incredibly helpful for eliminating enemies of both the political and personal variety.”

She shivered.

“And you simply happened to fall into my lap. How fortunate.”

“So it was all--”

“A trick of the light. An illusion. You told me not to shoot him, after a fashion. Funny how something can be viewed as ‘merciful’ if enough pieces are put into your pretty little head. Didn’t you think it was incredibly strange that I had no side effects from a drill entering my brain? And you’re a doctor!”

His laugh was dismissive, derisive, and she hated him for it.

“And now we’re off to see if Brother Dearest has managed his singular task of breaking out of high-security prison. I’m sure Q’s been more than helpful with that. Give that man a thumb drive and he’ll shove it into the nearest available machine. Silly boy.”

“How… how long have you been setting this up?”

“Since the beginning. I helped him fake his own death. He helped me craft an airtight story of a poor unfortunate orphan. His father’s death was an unfortunate side-effect, but it couldn’t be helped.” He shrugged.

The car slowed, and she reached for the door handle, inching her hand towards the latch inch by agonizing inch. She hadn’t shot the man in the bathroom only to be served up for dinner to a heartless criminal.

“Please. Please don’t do this. James.”

He laughed.

“Your fatal flaw,” he said as he turned a corner at speed, “is loving a man like me. Granted I didn’t disabuse you of the notion. But it’ll get you killed someday. And I’d leave that door latch alone if I were you.”

Her hand fell back into her lap.


	6. Day 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents: a man, a plan, a refrigerator, cats.
> 
> Warnings: zero.

Bond stared into emerald green eyes, a single bead of sweat trickling down his temple. The green eyes didn’t blink, didn’t even flicker, and another drop slid down the track of the first, wobbling at the hinge of Bond’s jaw, then dropping onto his collar, leaving a small grey circle of moisture.

Bond’s eyelid twitched, but he wouldn’t give in and blink. He would not. It was a matter of pride, now, and he would not give in.

His opponent chirped, then promptly jumped off the desk.

“Dammit, Babbage, you’re supposed to be helping me train!”

The cat bounded out the door. A second later, a yowl echoed from the kitchen, and Bond rolled his eyes. The food bowl must be empty. 

He pushed himself out of the chair and began meandering down the hallway. By the time he poked his head in, Babbage had jumped to the top of the refrigerator and was glowering down at his merely-tolerable human. Bond was under no illusions that the beastie preferred Q - even though he was the one that slipped the animal yogurt in the mornings and turkey after dinner. It didn’t matter. Babbage preferred Q. He tried not to take it personally.

Babbage grumbled from his perch.

“I hear you, but you know you can’t have any ‘til Q gets home.”

There was a split second warning grumble, then Babbage launched himself at Bond, landing on his shoulders, claws digging in, and Bond hissed.

“What the hell?”

He detached the cat from his shirt and set him down on the floor.

“You know, I’ve stood in hell and stared Satan in the eye, but frankly you scare the hell out of me.”

Babbage looked up at Bond and blinked.

“Alright. But only one spoon of yoghurt. Got it?”


	7. Day 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents: dreams, a bit of angst, a bit of chiding, a bit of self loathing, 00q 
> 
> Warnings: oblique reference to suicidal ideation and terrible coping mechanisms

He’s on the M4 again, passing cars like they’re standing still. He left the last vestiges of the city twenty minutes ago, but the landscape feels unfamiliar, and suddenly it’s not Wales, but Scotland, and he’s pulling up to the entrance to Skyfall.

And she’s there - standing by that godawful statue of a hart, arms crossed over her chest, giving him her best glare.

He knows it’s a dream, must be, but he approaches her anyway.

“Took you bloody long enough,” she says.

“Had to take a detour.”

She scoffs, turns, and walks toward the house - still standing, even with the gigantic hole in the roof and the fire blazing out of control - not looking back to see if he’s following. He does. He has little choice.

“You left, didn’t you.” It isn’t a question, and she opens the door to the house and motions for him to walk inside first.

“Only had a few months left until mandatory retirement anyway.”

“She made you blind - after all this time…” she walks through the blazing dining room and lets herself into the priest hole. He follows, his stomach clenching with apprehension.

“What do you mean, blind?” he asks as they meander through the tunnel - it seems to expand and loop back on itself as they walk along.

“Contrary to popular rumor, I am not in fact your mother.” She stops and levels her gaze at him again. “Christ, you never figured it out. All this time, and you never figured it out.”

“What?” He’s truly lost, now.

“It’s not my place, is it. But since I’m here, you can’t be completely in the dark. I was the one handing out promotions right up until I bled out on the floor of the chapel.” A dark stain grows across the fabric of her coat as she speaks. They’re still in the tunnel. They should have reached the chapel by now. 

“James,” she says, and he frowns. “James _wake up._ ”

***

Bond’s eyes snap open. It’s well past dawn, and golden sunlight streams in through the window. He’s blinking slowly, roused from the dream that hadn’t quite been a nightmare, her voice still ringing in his ears.

“James?” a different voice pulls him from his doze - unfamiliar and accented, and warm brown eyes in an equally warm brown face swim into his peripheral vision. “James, are you alright?”

He doesn’t answer. He never does. He can barely remember her name, but he’s pretty sure it starts with an R, and he’s been sleeping with her for perhaps a week at this point. He swallows some painkillers with a chaser of scotch at eleven o’clock in the morning and shrugs into a shirt.

“Don’t wait up,” he says as he slips out the door forty minutes later.

He slides into the DB5, wraps his hands around the steering wheel, and not for the first time wonders if he should go out with a bang instead of a whimper.

He pulls out onto the highway a few minutes later, and picks up speed, the windows down.

It doesn’t matter how fast he drives, or how much wind buffets the interior of the car. It still smells like him, and for the first time since he’d driven away he realizes why that bothers him.

He sets his course towards London for the first time in two years - and feels like he’s finally heading in the right direction.


	8. Day 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content: QoS extended scene, Mathis, Bond, and seven martinis.
> 
> Warnings: this is angst. The entirety of QoS is angst (or explosions), and this is no exception (well, except the explosions). Also, terrible coping mechanisms.

Mathis blinked awake in the darkened bar. They hadn’t been able to book a private cabin, so he was obliged to sneak as much sleep as he could in the booths here. It was a terrible thing, trying to sleep here. It didn’t help that sleep did not come easily.

But Bond was having more trouble yet. He was still in his suit, perched on a stool at the bar, his eyes bleary as he contemplated his glass. Mathis sighed and pulled himself from his bench and approached.

“What’s the matter, can’t sleep?”

Bond shook his head and drained his glass.

“What are you drinking?”

“I don’t know,” Bond said, and Mathis’ eyebrows lifted in disbelief. “What am I drinking?”

The bartender delivered the rundown - obviously Bond had given him the mixture before he’d drunk himself into a stupor - and it was strong.

“Six of them,” the bartender added, obviously hoping that Mathis would tell Bond to stop there. Mathis would do no such thing.

“That’s quite a drink.”

“It’s good, you should have one.”

“No,” Mathis replied. “It’ll keep me awake. What’s keeping you awake?”

A wry smile twisted Bond’s lips, and Mathis could guess what the problem was. It was the same problem that had plagued him at the villa, though he hadn’t said so in as many words.

“Just wondering why you decided to come with me.”

There were many reasons Mathis had made this choice - to be in on the real action again, to see justice done, to help a friend. They were few and far between in this business, and Mathis didn’t hold a grudge. Bond had acted on the information at his disposal. Didn’t mean he couldn’t rib him about it, but he didn’t blame him.

Mathis shrugged, keeping his reasons to himself. It wasn’t what Bond was after, anyway. It was a classic deflection.

“You can’t tape a broken heart back together with whiskey, you know.”

“Good job this isn’t whiskey, then.”

“You know what I mean.” 

Mathis considered voicing what it was, what he knew it to be. Their lifestyles didn’t allow for much softness - and Mathis saw that Bond was perhaps too soft for this business, despite his efforts to appear unaffected.

“You want a sleeping pill? I have pills for everything - pills to make you taller.”

At that, he got a chuckle from Bond, and he considered that a small victory.

“Pills to make you forget?”

It was all he could offer, really. He couldn’t make the pain of loss any easier, couldn’t take away the memory of Vesper’s betrayal or the truth of her final act. Bond was looking for comfort, he knew, but it would be hard to come by.

Bond shook his head, and Mathis smiled, relieved. If he had accepted… Well, if Bond had accepted, Mathis would know what he had to do when they reached Bolivia. A man cannot confront the immorality of his existence if all he wants to do is forget the consequences.

“I’m going to try and get some sleep. You should too.”

Bond simply nodded and raised his glass for the bartender to refill.

Seven martinis. It was Mathis’ turn to shake his head. He turned and took the few steps back to his booth.

“Mathis?”

He glanced over his shoulder, and Bond’s face spoke of a desperate hope. Mathis felt sorry for him all over again.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” 


	9. Day 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents: 00Swann, really trying to make things work, them not working anyway, post-Spectre naturally
> 
> Warnings: angst

A three-course meal that would make a chef envious: check.

Flowers on the table: check.

The playlist he’d spent hours perfecting playing softly in the background: check.

Bond surveyed their small flat on the outskirts of Nice and nodded, satisfied. Everything was ready for when Madeleine returned from the Psychology conference in Brussels. He’d wanted to go with her, of course. Just in case. But nobody had crawled out of the woodwork in months, and they’d settled into a familiar kind of domesticity. And so he’d seen her off at the train station with a cheeky line and a peck on the cheek.

“Promise you’ll still love me when you get back?” he’d said.

And, in typical Madeleine fashion, she’d rolled her eyes.

“Sentimental fool,” she’d murmured and stepped onto the platform.

***

Bond was, for all intents and purposes, happy. He found that actual retirement was far more enjoyable than a faked death and contented himself with keeping their flat and finally learning to cook those gourmet meals he so enjoyed. He’d made Madeleine suffer through more than one failed attempt at dinner.

Of course, he missed London. But it wasn’t a sharp kind of loss. His life was full here; the sun and sand mere steps away from their flat, the markets full to bursting with fresh flowers and fruit and veg, and Madeleine. Beautiful, vibrant Madeleine who called him on his follies and had helped him through the worst of his ‘recovery.’

He was still getting used to the fact that he even needed ‘recovery’ once the physical wounds were healed. But frankly, it was a small inconvenience in the larger scheme of their lives.

He checked his watch - a new Omega that was not wired to explode - and snagged the keys to the DB5 to pick Madeleine up from the train station.

***

She was tired. He could see on her face that the conference had been draining. He leaned in for a kiss, and she offered her cheek. 

“What’s the matter?”

“Take me home, James. Please.”

This was more than simple exhaustion.

“Are you alright?”

She let out a heavy sigh, but didn’t meet his gaze.

“I just want to go home.”

Bond frowned, but acquiesced, taking her luggage and loading it into the boot and then slipping into the driver’s seat beside her. They drove back to the flat in silence. It wasn’t unusual to share a comfortable silence with Madeleine, but this silence was anything but comfortable. It ached between them for no reason that Bond could pinpoint. Perhaps she was simply overtired. Bond was incredibly glad that dinner was ready and in the warming oven, merely waiting to be served.

Halfway there, Madeleine turned to him.

“I need to go.”

“Go where?”

“Leave. I need to leave.”

“What?” James was perplexed. She’d just got back.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly through her nose. James flicked his eyes across her face. It was impassive, stoic, as though she’d commented on the lack of sun today instead of informing James that she needed to leave - and go where?

“I realized at the conference. I’m sorry. Maybe it just took some distance, some perspective. I care for you very much, James. But I don’t love you. Not anymore.” She sighed. “I’m not sure I ever really did. Adrenaline and fear do inexplicable things to our emotions.”

James was thunderstruck. His entire reality crumbled around him as he continued to drive on auto-pilot back to the flat.

“So it was all a lie?” he said, voice brittle.

“Not a lie, exactly. I believed it at the time. I was undoubtedly infatuated. You’re quite the charmer.” At this she glanced over and smiled, but her eyes still held a deep sadness. “But, like all infatuations, it wears away eventually. I didn’t realize how much until we’d spent some time apart.”

“I see.” He didn’t. At all. He’d spent every one of those five days waiting for her to come back, and now that she had, she was telling him she was leaving? It didn’t make any sense. This was not how things were supposed to go. Not now. Not once he’d chosen. The bitterness clung to the back of his throat and tasted of aluminum. 

“Some day you’ll understand. I won’t linger. Three months is hardly time to build any kind of home, I’ll be nothing but a memory by this time next week.”

Bond wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

He slept fitfully on the sofa, and by three in the morning was shoving clothes into a duffel. Twenty minutes later, he was driving towards Paris.


	10. Day 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of Day 9  
> Contents: 00q, Q/009, angst, James being completely self-centered and it backfiring on him for once
> 
> Warnings: Not a happy ending.

Bond arrived in London two days after he’d fled Nice.

He set himself up in a temporary bedsit, not really wanting to return to days upon days spent in a hotel - regardless of the level of luxury. It was spartan but livable and Bond’s few belongings fit in the cupboard. It was fine.

It took him two entire days to pluck up the courage to go see him. He’d never been particularly good at the whole ‘contrite apology’ thing so he swaggered into Q-branch like he still owned it. A hush fell over the space as he walked through, and all eyes were glued to him in a kind of mystified terror.

His only hint that something was amiss was when one of the minions glanced from him to Q’s office and then back again, his terror growing by the second. James quirked an eyebrow, but continued on his path, attempting to pull his swagger on over his increasing unease.

There were voices in the office.

No matter, James could wait. Would wait. A meeting couldn’t last forever. He wondered if it were Tanner or M - both voices were decidedly masculine and James could pick Q’s out easily.

***

_“What is this?”_

_The question came unexpectedly in the middle of the night as Bond rolled out of Q’s bed again and began pulling his clothes on._

_“What do you mean?”_

_“You come home. We shag. You leave. I’m not complaining - the sex is fantastic - but… you don’t have to go.”_

_Bond shouldn’t have turned to look, but he did. The unspoken question of Bond’s intent lay behind Q’s eyes. Q was a pretty face and a good fuck and that was about it. Right._

_“Early morning tomorrow,” was all he said in reply and continued to dress._

_He didn’t return to Q’s flat for a long, long time afterward._

_And while the sex was still fantastic, the edge had worn off. He’d succeeded at making Q simply another one of his conquests - one he liked to revisit - but at the cost of what had made him irresistible._

***

The office door opened and 009 sauntered out, grinning, followed by Q. When they saw him standing there, they both stopped cold and the smiles dropped from their faces.

“I’ll see you tonight, Noah,” Q said conspicuously, then pulled the agent in for a quick kiss on the cheek.

Bond’s stomach dropped. 

“Eight o’clock sharp,” 009 replied, a fond smile returning to his lips. He squeezed Q’s hand affectionately, spared a glare for Bond, and took his leave. 

The entirety of Q-branch held its collective breath.

“Bond,” Q said coolly. “What on Earth could possibly bring you to my office door. I thought you were off enjoying retirement.”

“It...wasn’t working for me.”

“Hm. Imagine that.”

James nearly winced at the bite in Q’s words.

“I see you’ve… carried on.” What else was he supposed to say? He couldn’t very well just admit that he’d come back hoping to find Q sullen and moping and desperate.

“I didn’t have much choice. I’m not always going to be here waiting for _you_.” The last word was spat at him with enough venom to kill a komodo dragon.

“Q, I…”

“Don’t. Whatever you thought you were going to say, don’t. You made your bed, and I’m not going to lie in it anymore. I think you know the way out?”

A bevy of excited whispers erupted behind Bond, and Q silenced them with a ferocious glare.

Bond simply nodded and turned away, at a loss with how to confront the rejection. There was a hollowness in his core that he recognized as he retreated. An emptiness he hadn’t noticed for years raging inside him, getting ready to devour him alive.

He’d finally outlived his usefulness and had been set adrift - first by Madeleine, and now by Q - and it was entirely his own doing.


	11. Day 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of Day 10  
> Contents: a very very sad James Bond, A very happy Q, 009, Bond’s choices come back to bite him
> 
> Warnings: no fix, angst

James stayed in London. He had nowhere else to be, and the bedsit was adequate if not luxurious - and more importantly within his suddenly average budget.

James did a lot of wandering that first week, leaving the bedsit just to be out, and finding himself in all kinds of odd places.

He wound up at the National Gallery on Thursday and sat in front of the _Temerarire_ for far longer than was possibly considered polite.

He didn’t go back to Six. In fact, he studiously avoided the entirety of Vauxhall and surroundings - avoided the cafes and pubs that he knew were on the ‘schedule’ for employees, kept a wide berth around the bridge, all of it. It wasn’t so much a conscious decision to avoid it as it was just a natural instinct that he had no inclination to press - he had enough bruises, he didn’t need to prod at this one just to see if it still hurt.

So it was a complete shock when, that gloomy Friday afternoon after he’d been summarily dismissed from Q-branch, he saw Q and 009 enter his pub. Together. 

Q was resplendent - the drizzle frizzing out his hair, his cardigan slightly moist where he hadn’t been under the umbrella (they’d probably been sharing, Bond thought, and wrinkled his nose), glasses slightly fogged from the change in temperature from outside to in. He wondered if 009 noticed, wondered if he found those details as endearing as Bond pretended not to. They found a table by the front window and sat, too close together, talking.

His mouth twitched up in sympathy when Q laughed, even as his heart broke into countless pieces every time 009 so much as touched him.

James considered getting up and simply walking out. He’d tortured himself enough for a lifetime, thank you very much, he needn’t watch this. But he couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes away as the pair looked up at the waitress and gave her their orders. They smiled. 

It was a full-on contented smile that Q levelled at 009, one that reached his eyes and infused his face with a kind of glow. 009 ran a finger over the back of Q’s hand and Bond, finally, had to look away.

“I could have loved you like that,” he murmured to himself, “if I’d let myself.”

But even as he said it, he wondered if it would have been enough - if it could have been enough. He’d let himself love Madeleine like that and still she’d walked away.

It would be his just deserts, he supposed. Well-earned for his litany of sins.

He drained his scotch, threw some money on the table, and walked out into the night.


	12. Day 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of Day 11  
> Contents: James & Tanner, good friends, terrible coping mechanisms
> 
> Warning: Angst, gambling as a profession

Bond’s steps led him to Tanner’s flat after he left the pub. His oldest friend in the service, he’d known Tanner even before he’d earned his 00 number - they’d enjoyed rounds of golf and a good football game and a pint when opportunity allowed.

And Bond generally listened to Tanner’s advice - when he liked what he heard.

He pressed the button next to Tanner’s name, and fifteen seconds later Tanner’s voice crackled through the intercom.

“It’s me.”

“Bond? What the… alright. Since you’re here already. At least you rang the bell this time.”

The door buzzed, and Bond slipped inside.

It was a cozy building with bright halls and a working lift. Not as flashy as Bond’s old flat in Notting Hill, but solid and warm. Tanner’s flat was on the second floor. Bond plodded up the stairs in lieu of the lift, it was only two flights and perhaps the exercise would drain some of his frustration off, and knocked on door 34B.

Tanner pulled open the door in flannel pajama bottoms and a white undershirt and for the first time Bond realized that it was past ten in the evening.

“How long have you been in London?”

Well, of all the questions, this wasn’t the one he was expecting. It had been long enough that he was certain the rumor mill that was Six had spread the gossip far and wide. Apparently not far or wide enough.

“A week? Ten days, maybe. Not so long as a fortnight.”

“Long enough to get yourself into trouble, then.” Tanner stood aside and let Bond into his flat. 

It was just as Bond remembered: clean but cluttered kitchen, sitting room overflowing with jewel cases, cassette tapes, vinyl. Tanner loved music of all types - but preferred it in physical form when he could get it. Bond moved a stack of vinyl - ‘50’s crooners, it looked like - and sat heavily on the sofa.

“Here.” Tanner handed him a beer, which Bond took gratefully. “Now, what brings you to my flat at a ridiculous time of night when you’re supposed to be living in bliss somewhere in... France?” He lifted an eyebrow to emphasize the question. “Last I heard.”

“Nice, to be exact. But that’s all over.”

“Ah.”

“So I came back.”

“Mhmm.”

And at that, Bond shut up. London was his home, let Tanner draw his own conclusions about why he’d returned. 

Tanner didn’t press for more, but he did hand Bond another beer when the first bottles were empty. At some point Tanner started playing music, an eclectic mix, with pauses between each song for Tanner to flip his stereo to whichever input he was going to use next.

“How long are you staying?”

“Where else would I go?”

“You planning on petitioning M for a job?”

“No.” Bond’s voice was flat and emphatic. Tanner lifted an eyebrow again.

“Retirement suiting you, then? For the most part I mean.”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“And what manner is that?” There was an edge of irritation to Tanner’s voice with this question. The cagey answers weren’t going to cut it. Not tonight. Bond sighed.

“I prefer not to run around getting shot at. That part’s fine. It’s everything else that’s gone to shit.”

“With… what was her name again?”

“Madeleine. Yes, that’s part of it.” Bond sighed and drained the last mouthful of his bottle. “I’ve been alone my whole life, Bill. But this is the first time I’ve ever felt lonely. Everyone’s lives are moving on without me.”

Tanner’s lips made a perfect, small ‘o’ and Bond could see the pieces falling into place.

“You went to Q-branch.”

Bond nodded.

“And you--” Tanner rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “James, you’ve been gone for nearly six months.”

“It wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had,” Bond admitted.

“No, pretty sure this one’s right up there with ‘komodo dragon wrestling’ on the Bad Idea board.”

“Q never let me forget that one, either.”

Tanner sighed.

“So why are you sticking around? Why don’t you just...leave? It was easy enough for you the first dozen times.”

“And go where? And do what? Every other time I’ve left it was for a reason. And now I don’t have a reason to go-- but I don’t have a reason to stay, either.”

Bill didn’t have an answer for that, and for a while they sat in silence, drinking, Bond mulling over what he would do. Would stay in the bedsit and try and make something of himself or try his luck at the gambling tables again? It was tempting to think of living off his winnings - but he wasn’t sure he had it in him anymore.

He was old. Tired. He’d wanted so much to settle -- or had he? Had that simply been what he’d told himself he wanted - or worse, what she’d told him he should want.

He was too drunk at this point to untangle the threads.

“Las Vegas, perhaps,” Bond mused aloud. “An entire world away.”

“You could go back to Macau,” Bill offered.

“Monte Carlo.”

“Atlantic City.”

“San Juan.”

“Make it a world tour,” Bill said, smiling.

James raised his bottle in mock salute, a half-smile pulling up the corner of his mouth. There was still an aching cavern in his gut, but with enough drink, enough sex, enough manufactured danger… perhaps he could muddle through.


	13. Day 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents: 00q, Bill Tanner, a small mystery
> 
> Warnings: none that spring to mind. It might be a bit cracky?

“So I think Mum’ll come round for dinner,” Q said to Tanner as they passed in the hall.

“Oh, excellent, I haven’t see her in ages!”

“I didn’t know you were friends with Tanner’s mother?” Bond murmured to Q as they continued on their way down to the branch. Bond was being kitted out for his next mission - a babysitting job at some ski lodge. He was looking forward to the roaring fire and the spiked hot cocoa more than the actual job - chauffeuring around some entitled brat. He wasn’t sure how MI6 had got involved, but M had volunteered him for the job and Bond had little choice after his last hot mission went completely arse over teakettle.

“Oh, I’ve known her since I was tiny.”

James chuckled, and then tried to imagine Q as a child and failed spectacularly.

*****

“Do you think Aunt Cynthia needs any more tea cozies?”

It was the strangest question Bond had ever walked in on, made all the stranger for its coming out of Tanner’s mouth, directed at Q.

“I don’t know if ‘need’ is the correct term when putting Aunt Cynthia and tea cozies in the same sentence.”

“Fair point.”

Q glanced around Tanner and saw that Bond had walked in.

“I’ll see you a week from Thursday,” Q said.

“Right. Can’t wait.” Tanner’s sarcasm was thick enough to cut with a pair of kitchen shears.

Tanner let himself out with a nod to Bond.

“Who’s Aunt Cynthia?”

“A crazy old bat with seven million tea cozies in a kitchen cupboard, and she’ll be thrilled to get a new one.”

“Sounds like you met her before.”

“Unfortunately.” Q shuddered.

At that precise moment, before Bond could ask about a week from Thursday, an alarm went off, Q’s screens flashed orange, and Q was no longer the sweet boffin, but Quartermaster of MI6 - his eyes hardened to two jade flecks, his jaw tightened, his movements became efficient and sharp as knives. Bond loved watching the transformation. He stayed as long as he wasn’t in the way, eventually retreating to his own office when it became clear that he was more of a distraction than an assistance. 004 deserved all of Q’s considerable attention.

*****

“Da’s driving me up the wall with all this planning.”

Tanner was in Q’s office again two days later as Bond dropped in to take Q home for the evening.

“It’ll all be over soon. You know the drill.” Q looked up from his screen and smiled at Bond as he walked in. “You’re actually on time for once,” he commented wryly.

“Thanks to this,” Bond held up his watch- a Q original of course - and grinned.

Tanner rolled his eyes.

“I’m out of here before you two start throwing actual sugar at each other. You both are incorrigible saps.”

“Just smile and nod and do what you know needs doing,” Q said, continuing their previous conversation as though they hadn’t been interrupted.

“It’s very handy having you as a brother,” Tanner replied, grinning, and Bond stopped in his tracks.

“Wait… how are you two brothers?” He looked between Tanner and Q and couldn’t see a resemblance to save his tattered soul.

“Oh. I thought you knew,” Q said. “You see, my stepfather is Bill’s father, so we’re not technically brothers by blood, but I’ve known him since I was born. He used to watch me when Mom and Charlie went out to dinner.”

“So you’re responsible for ensuring that Bill has the best agent-wrangling skills Six has ever seen,” Bond said, chuckling. “I should have seen it sooner.”


	14. Day 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents: 00q, h/c fluff
> 
> Warnings: nope. maybe a teeny tiny bit of angst in the ‘hurt’ part of this, but it’s resolved like…immediately.

The comm had gone dark six days, four hours and thirty-seven minutes ago, and Q hadn’t slept. Wasn’t sleeping now, despite having been awake for nearly thirty-six hours straight. Bond was out on mission, and, as is usually par for the course with Bond, the entirety of it had gone tits up a week ago and Q had been trying to get him out of the country.

Until his comm stopped working forty-eight hours ago after a hail of bullets.

Q searched CCTV, private security, everything he had clearance for and nearly everything he didn’t as well, and it was like Bond had vanished. He tried not to curse the delays in production on his intravenous tracking nanobots. They’d gotten held up in funding disputes. Again. They’d be so helpful in a situation like this.

At least then he’d still know if Bond was alive.

Another CCTV scan came up fruitless. Of course. Q clenched his hand and drove it into the surface of his desk with an echoing ‘thud.’

“That sounded like it hurt.”

Q whirled at the sound of that voice, certain that he was having auditory hallucinations due to sleep deprivation. But no, there he was, cool as you please in an impeccable suit with a cut across his temple and a black eye.

“You bloody bat-eared, poxy-faced son of a half-mad mutt! What in the hell were you trying to pull?”

“Well, Q, if I’d known you--”

“You cock! You absolute bloody wanker!”

Q was walking towards Bond, now, his steps coming faster and faster the closer he got.

“I ought to get you grounded for three months for that kind of stunt. You didn’t even use company plastic - how the hell am I supposed to know you’re alive if I can’t track your movements?”

Q stopped toe-to-toe with Bond, chest heaving, eyes hard as marble.

Bond’s face shifted into something that wouldn’t be considered contrite on anyone else, but on Bond it was practically begging for forgiveness. Q softened.

“Thank god you’re alright.”

Bond’s arms came up to pull Q into a strong embrace.

“I...I missed you. So much. Tried to keep up that bit of hope, but after so long…” Q sniffed, pressed his face into Bond’s neck. “You were about ten hours away from being declared dead. Again.”

“I really ought to have a talk with M about that timeline,” Bond said, his nose buried deep in Q’s curls. Q chuckled wetly and clung tighter.

“I really will get you grounded, you know.”

“I love you, too.”


	15. Day 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents: 00Q, ridiculousness, Bond is such a dork and I love it
> 
> Warnings: Ummm… I can’t think of any. It’s a fluff piece!!

“Q, I promise, you don’t want to miss this.”

Moneypenny practically dragged Q towards the pub. She’d got him within two blocks on false pretenses, promising a small gathering and drinks -- but once he saw the bill stapled to a post with the name of the pub and ‘karaoke every Thursday’ he’d dug in his heels.

“I don’t do karaoke,” Q protested, uselessly.

“Trust me. I won’t even make you sing until you’re properly lubricated. Just… trust me.”

Maybe there was something in her eyes that said it would be worth Q’s time. Maybe there was something of the feline curiosity in him and he would never be satisfied until he understood why she was so insistent on his going. Maybe, deep down, he actually thought he’d have a good time (unlikely. People were so much less predictable than machines).

Regardless, he allowed Eve to pull him on towards the pub with only token resistance. 

As soon as he walked in the door, he knew he should have stayed home.

It was Bond. And Bill Tanner, but Bill wasn’t the troubling presence in the room.

He glared at Eve, who merely smiled and shrugged and traipsed over to the bar, securing herself something pink and frothy and him a glass of red wine. Round two would be Q’s responsibility.

The evening went predictably, with Bond doing a rather tone-deaf version of some 80’s song Q had never heard of, Eve forgoing all propriety and doing a rather good impression of all five Spice Girls.

True to her word, Eve - and Bond and Tanner as well - did not pressure him to put his name in to sing, and perversely Q was beginning to seriously consider going up anyway. He narrowed his eyes at his wine glass - nearing the quarter-full mark for the second time - and reconsidered his priorities.

Fuck it, he was only young once, right? He tried to forget the other times he’d made a complete arse of himself behind a microphone as he filled out the song request slip and handed it up to the DJ, who quirked an eyebrow at him, but nodded.

Bond was, worryingly, behaving himself. Keeping the flirting to office standards, which were ridiculously lax for a government office to begin with, and generally keeping his hands to himself.

A little after Q had purchased Round 4 for the table - Bond’s scotch and soda and Bill’s pint, as well - Bond vanished. Simply disappeared. Perhaps Q had escaped unscathed, and after Bond had been absent for nearly fifteen minutes Q began to breathe a sigh of relief.

He’d been too quick to relax.

He heard him before he saw him, and he was quite surprised that Bond’s voice went that low, but that wasn’t what made him bury his face in his hands and wish he could just sink into the floor.

“I’m too sexy for my love--”

“Oh god.”

Eve cackled. Q was suddenly, acutely aware that this very performance was the reason Eve had been so insistent on his coming.

“You liar.”

“Ah, I didn’t technically lie. You are not obligated to sing.” Eve grinned and shrugged.

And then Bond stepped out when the music began, and Q’s jaw dropped.

He wore a black translucent shirt that showed off all the right angles and hugged his arms, black leather trousers that could have been painted on. And a ridiculous fedora hat and sunglasses. The man always looked good, but dressed like this he was sex on two legs, two very, very well-muscled legs. Eve dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a cocktail napkin. Q batted her hand away.

At this point Bond was singing about being too sexy for his shirt, and said shirt now hung undone from his shoulders and Q wanted to look anywhere but at Bond’s chiseled pecs, but of course Bond was making that impossible. 

Most of the women, and more than a few men, were howling as Bond played the part, pulling his sunglasses down his nose and quirking his eyebrow, that enigmatic smirk on his lips. Q didn’t miss the wink thrown his way, and he was torn between grinning and sinking into the floor. He knew his cheeks were likely as red as his wine by this point.

Bond worked his way through the crowd toward Q, who was laughing with a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment. Where Bond’s eyes had been playful before, they were now heated.

“I’m a model, you know what I mean,” Bond sang, nearly crowding Q’s space, “and I shake my little tush on the catwalk.”

Bond turned, swinging his hips, and Q just about fainted on the spot. Another cheeky wink, the bastard, and he was off terrorizing another table of over-eager women. None of whom he let get close enough to touch, Q noted, surprised at the satisfaction he felt at the thought and berating himself for it at the same time.

“I’m too sexy for my hat, too sexy for my hat, what you think about that?” Bond pulled the ridiculous fedora off his head and threw it onto the table right in front of Q. Eve picked it up and plopped it on Q’s head, grinning.

“What is he playing at?” Q asked, torn between ripping the hat off his head and leaving it there as a token of Bond’s… well… appreciation? Sure. Appreciation. Any other alternative made his stomach do very complicated acrobatics.

“I’m too sexy for this song!” Bond froze, arms outstretched, head down, and the entire pub erupted in wolf whistles, howls and shouts. Bond took a bow, because of course he did, and took his time meandering back to the table, although his eyes never left Q’s.

“I think,” Bond said to Q as he settled onto his stool, “that I might be too sexy for this pub. What do you think?” He leaned into Q, all enigmatic eyebrow quirk and that dangerous smirk playing with his lips.

Q licked his lips.

“I think I might know a place,” he said, and was quite pleased with the smoothness of the delivery.

“Alright… Q!” the DJ called his name and Q straightened. “You still alive?”

“I might not have planned for weeks for this,” Q said to Bond, “but I think I’ll make an impression.”

Bond chuckled.

Q trotted up to the microphone.

The opening to Savage Garden’s “I Want You” thumped through the speakers, and Q looked Bond dead in the eyes the entire song.


	16. Day 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents: James Bond, Bill Tanner, Q/Tanner - James is jealous.
> 
> Warnings: None that come to mind?

It was their regular middle-of-the-week, paperwork-is-the-devil night at Bill’s local. 

“How do you do it?” Bill asked as their second round appeared.

“Do what?”

“Talk to someone for ten minutes and have them ready to tear their clothes off. How do you do that?” Bill looked genuinely perplexed, and James laughed.

“Charm?” he tried, and Bill rolled his eyes. “I don’t land them all, you know.”

“Oh really? Well, a ninety percent track record is nothing to scoff at.”

“It depends on who you’re trying to pull. That bloke, for instance,” James pointed to a small man seated at the bar currently in conversation with a man whose physique put Bond’s own to shame, “power wouldn’t work. He’d be too intimidated.”

“How can you tell?”

“He’s leaning away, his eyes darting around, looking for someone to help him out. Shall I?”

But as Bond spoke, another man approached and took the first by the arm, murmuring something, and all the tension leaked out of the situation as easily as letting air out of a balloon. 

“Ah, well, missed my chance. But it’s all in reading people, Bill. Give them what they want.”

“And what do you think Q wants?” Bill asked, staring down at his drink.

“Oh no,” James said with a groan. “Don’t change for him, he’s not worth it.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that Q is one of those rare creatures that is completely immune to charm.”

Bill smirked. “He turned you down, then?”

James scowled. “Flat.”

“Hm. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you about our date next Thursday, then.”

James’ head shot up and he stared hard at Bill, trying to put the pieces together.

“You and-- how?”

Bill shrugged. “He asked me. I’m just here for advice on how to end the evening, seeing as you’re the expert.”

“Well, obviously you’ve managed something I can’t, so I’m of exactly no help to you.”

“Apparently.”

“Well done, though,” James said, lifting his drink. Bill clinked his glass against James’ and they both drank.

“But seriously, though…”


	17. Day 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents: 00q, office sex interrupted
> 
> Warnings: nsfw-ish

Bond pressed Q against the wall, his hand already under Q’s shirt, his fingers like fire against Q’s ribs.

“We really shouldn’t--” Q groaned aloud as Bond’s teeth found his earlobe, “be doing this right now.”

“But you’re not stopping me,” Bond pointed out, his breath ghosting across Q’s neck, gooseflesh rising where he’d been lapping at Q’s pulse point.

“I said ‘shouldn’t’ not ‘wouldn’t’ Double-Oh-Seven,” Q replied and hissed as Bond bit down on his collar bone.

“That’s what I thought.” Q could feel Bond’s wicked grin widen against his chest.

And then Q was lost to sensation - the wet slide of Bond’s tongue across his nipples, his belly, lower… until finally, after much teasing by Bond and much whining by Q, Bond swallowed him down.

_Knock, knock, knock_.

Q froze.

Bond froze, which was a very distracting thing to do when he had Q’s cock in his throat.

“Shit,” Q hissed, reluctantly pushing Bond away. “How loud was that?” Then, loud enough for the person on the other side of the door to hear, “I’m in a meeting!”

“Urgent from M - I’ve been instructed to interrupt.” Q recognized Hildebrand’s voice and groaned under his breath.

“Do you really want an answer?” Bond whispered back, rocking back on his heels as Q frantically cast about for his trousers.

“Probably not. Where the fuck are my underwear?”

“Search me.”

Q glared at Bond, who was busily wiping his chin with a silk handkerchief as he settled himself into one of Q’s office guest chairs.

“Fuck it.” Q pulled on his trousers, slid into his shoes, raked his hands through his hair - which did little to make it look like anything other than sex-hair - and unlocked his office door.

“Hildebrand. What is so urgent that--”

“M needs you to sign off on these budgetary documents immediately, sir. He says they called an emergency meeting for tomorrow morning and it can’t wait.”

“Can’t… or won’t?” Bond’s voice warmed Q’s ears.

“Oh-- oh, Double-Oh-Seven. I didn’t… that is, M didn’t say-- er… Sorry for interrupting.” Hildebrand shoved the folder into Q’s hand and fled. Q shut and locked the door again, tossing the folder onto an occasional table.

“What have you been telling them?” Bond asked, coming up behind Q and allowing his hands to wander to where his mouth had left off.

“That you’re prone to fits of temper when you’re interrupted,” Q said.

“Oh, well, that’s alright then,” Bond replied.

Q’s head lolled back onto Bond’s shoulder as Bond continued to palm him through his trousers.

“Lucky he didn’t make it all the way inside, though,” Bond continued.

“Why’s that?”

“I just found your pants.”

Q straightened and opened his eyes.

Sure enough, there they were, hanging off the coat tree like they’d been put there for display.

Q began to giggle, followed by Bond, his arms tightening around Q’s middle as he laid his forehead on Q’s shoulder as the laughter overtook him.


	18. Day 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents: James in a graveyard.
> 
> Warnings: Angst, canon MCD references

There’s a sweet perfume to the air that speaks of spring and green, growing things. James, for once in his life, wishes for rain. It would fit his mood. Six months - he’d waited six months to come here.

He supposed if he put it off long enough it wouldn’t be true - that she’d come striding back into the office ordering everyone about with that no-nonsense tone and arse-kicking attitude.

He’d come back from the dead, after all.

But after six months, it’s time to face facts: she’s cold in the ground, and he’d better pay his last respects. She expected nothing less, and he knows she’d haul herself out of the afterlife to kick his arse if he didn’t. And that would make her a bit more cross than usual.

The headstone is tasteful; grey marble, not ostentatious but clearly quality. Her husband’s name and dates settled comfortably next to hers in a serif font (oh and wouldn’t Q be pleased that James knows that?).

He sets the flowers on top of the stone, then uncaps the Glenlivet and pours out a shot over her side of the grave before leaning back against the stone and taking a long pull from the bottle.

“He’s not as sharp as you are,” he begins. “His edges are smoother. I’m not sure I like that.” He chuckles and takes another pull. “He pulled us through, though, I’ll say that for him. And I’ll work for him, just like you knew I would. You knew me better than I did, and I always sort of hated you for it.”

James watches the sky for a bit, counting clouds. He isn’t quite sure what he wants to say next, but he isn’t done and he isn’t ready to leave. This might be the only time he got around to actually doing this.

“I skipped the funeral,” he says finally. “I didn’t want other people’s memories of you. I’m sure you understand.” He takes another long pull from the bottle. It had been more than that, if he wants to be honest. He’d done quite enough crying in front of other people, thank you very much, and he didn’t fancy swallowing his tears. He’d spent the day drunk and watching bad telly - which he supposed was a step up from ‘drunk and gambling’ but he wasn’t sure by how much.

“You were right about Q, too. Because you’re always right about people. It probably wouldn’t even surprise you to know that he’s helped the most, after. He reminds me of you, in a way.”

And he hadn’t realized it until he said it, but Q’s no-nonsense attitude and snark _did_ remind him of some of her best qualities. Not as polished, of course, but give him time…

But none of this is what he needs to say. Not really. He shifts his feet, rearranging his arse on the edge of the stone, and leans forward so his elbows rest on his knees. He clasps the bottle in folded hands between his knees. To an outside observer it would appear that he’s praying, and the idea strikes him as hilarious.

“I haven’t prayed for years,” he mutters. “It doesn’t change a damn thing. But I’d start right now if it could. That puts you on a very short list, you know.”

His parents.

Hannes.

Vesper.

Mathis.

It’s a very exclusive list.

“I wish there’d been another way. Taking you out there was the only thing I could think of. You put up a damn good fight, though. The lightbulb thing was ingenious. But I should have known better. I know you offered yourself as bait - who the hell does that at your age? - but I shouldn’t have let you. And for that…” he pauses, swallows, takes several deep breaths. “For that I’m truly sorry. It is what it is, I know. Regret is unprofessional - god how many times have I heard you say that?” He chuckles wetly, unshed tears barely held back. “But it doesn’t quite smooth it all away.”

“I think you knew that, too. But it was all you had to give.” He pats the stone beneath him and levers himself up. 

“Thank you,” he says, facing the stone. “For everything. M.”


	19. Day 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents: 00q, dogs, retirement
> 
> Warnings: lethal amounts of fluff ahead

James adjusted the wriggling bundle under his arm for the third time, and it let out a tiny, concerned whine.

“Almost home,” James soothed, and scratched the puppy between the ears.

He knew Q had said no dogs, but one look at this face was sure to change his mind, right? Besides, he was retired now and Q kept telling him to find something to occupy his time ‘otherwise you’re bound to set the entire block on fire!’

Well, there wasn’t anything so occupying as training a puppy. James grinned. His mind kept returning to the hunting dogs he helped Kincade train up at Skyfall - a different sort of training, to be sure, but the fundamentals couldn’t be all that different. He glanced down at the puppy under his arm again, and the puppy looked back up at him, all soulful hazel eyes and long, floppy ears.

It was a mutt, of that he was certain. The face of a spaniel, but a short, easy-care coat and too-long legs. James had been smitten immediately.

***

“If you think I’m going to let you keep that, you’re out of your mind!”

“But Simon…”

“Do not try to sweet-talk me, I told you -- aaaaa-choo! -- no dogs!”

“But you didn’t tell me you were allergic!”

***

Beretta lifted her head from the rug in the middle of the sitting room. Her muzzle was grey and her eyes rheumy, but her hearing was sharp as ever. 

She heard her master’s voice echo through the cottage, then a tapping, then a very new kind of smell---

She had to go investigate. She lifted herself from her spot in front of the fire with a huff and padded in the direction of Master’s voice.

There, in the kitchen, was a wriggling, waggling, licking bundle of energy that trotted over immediately to say hello.

Beretta wasn’t so sure about this newcomer, but she sniffed him politely and looked questioningly at Master and Master’s mate.

“His name’s Walther,” Master explained.

Walther gave a tiny yap, tongue lolling, obviously pleased with the situation.

“Simon brought him home.” 


	20. Day 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents: James Bond, Bill Tanner, shopping. Yes.
> 
> Warnings: James is ridiculous, as always. And a giant dork.

Bond regarded himself in the mirror, tugged his cuffs into place, and stepped out from behind the curtain with a flourish.

He grinned at Tanner, who sat motionless in the chair, staring at him, jaw slack.

“That good?”

Tanner had the decency to actually blink.

“Um.”

“Speechless is good.”

“Er.” Tanner shook his head.

“What?”

Tanner mumbled something under his breath, and Bond fixed him with a hard stare.

“Didn’t quite catch that Bill.”

“Erm, well. Honestly? You look like a clown in those trousers.”

Bond looked down. They were perfectly fashionable, if a slightly more vibrant shade than he normally chose.

“What’s wrong with red?”

“Nothing!” Bill said, a bit too quickly. “Nothing wrong with red. Just… I suppose it was a bit of a shock, is all.”

James nodded, and squinted at himself in the 3-way mirror.

“Q keeps telling me to branch out. D’you think he’d--” Bond stopped talking, because Tanner had started coughing violently. “Are you alright?”

It took several moments, but Tanner’s coughing fit subsided and he held up a hand.

“I don’t think this is what Q had in mind. Take those things off before you blind someone, and we’ll try something a bit...softer. I can’t believe - no, wait, yes I can because you haven’t changed your tailor in ten years. Right. You want to impress Q?” Tanner coughed again, but Bond caught the laugh beneath this time.

“Is that...funny?”

“I never thought I’d see the day,” Tanner said, and shrugged. “You don’t seem the type.”

“What type?”

“Nevermind,” Tanner said, waving Bond’s question away. “Once you’re decent, we’ll look for a shirt. Start there, yeah?”

“I can’t believe I’m going to take fashion advice from you.”

“I can’t believe you were going to wear those trousers in public.”

Bond sighed and flicked the curtain to the changing room closed again.

“Fine. Fine. You’ve made your point.”


	21. Day 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents: Q in Q-branch, homecoming
> 
> Warnings: badly conceived things for Q to do, because I’m not actually a tech genius so.

Q rolled his shoulders, then twisted his neck until it cracked. He’d been sitting for far too long, but there was no way he was going to be getting up anytime soon, so he went through his stretches as best he could to stave off the worst of the fatigue.

One arm up and over his head, then the other, then both, clasped hands and bent elbows until he could touch the nape of his neck. He repeated the sequence several times, then wriggled his fingers and got back to work.

He was tracking a shipment of seemingly innocuous fabric samples that he had on good authority (004) had been laced with Blue - an hallucinogenic drug that was imperceptible to all but the most sophisticated scanning. The package had nearly made it to its destination - Q wasn’t interested in the package so much as the money, but he had to start somewhere, and tracking packages was easy - if time-consuming - work.

He’d just set down another layer of visual tracers when he heard it: the soft scuff of a shoe across the stone floor of Q-branch, the rustle of fabric, the almost-silent breath.

He grinned to himself and continued working, content to allow the game to be played. Bond knew as well as he did that Q had been following the agent’s movements since the moment he’d left British soil, but Bond did so love his games, and Q was content to play along for now.

He did have to admit that Bond was able to startle him by spinning his chair around. The heated kiss that followed was welcomed and returned.

“How was your flight?”

“Long.”

Q laughed. Bond could be on an airplane for twenty minutes and his answer would still be the same. But this time the comment was warranted. He’d just got home from Nepal.

“I surprise you this time?” Bond asked, grinning.

“Hardly.”

“But I spent thirty minutes chatting up Ponsonby before heading down here! All that wasted conversation when I could have been kissing you instead.”

“You’re not as quiet as you think you are,” Q said before relenting to another kiss.

“Guess I’ll just have to work harder then, won’t I?”

“If you’re so determined.”

Bond grumbled into Q’s neck. “Are you working or were you waiting for me?”

“Yes.”

Bond chuckled. “What are you concocting for me this time?”

“What makes you think it’s for you?”

“Oh, it always is, even if it’s transferred to another agent.”

Q rolled his eyes, but Bond was right. He designed everything with Bond in mind, even if it wasn’t for him. 

“Well, if I didn’t, you’d destroy even more tech and then the Budgetary Committee would really start breathing down my neck.”

“Can’t have them ruining such a lovely nape,” Bond purred, fingers ghosting over the skin in question.

“Incorrigible,” Q murmured, his eyes falling closed.

“Always.”


	22. Day 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents: 00q, James is a shit, but he’s so freaking charming, ugh.
> 
> Warnings: none that I can think of?

He knew everyone knew. How could they not? Wasn’t there that trope about everyone always being able to tell when a person had had sex the night before - particularly when it had been mind-blowing, toe-curling sex with the most handsome bloke he’d ever laid eyes on?

Nevermind that the man was also pig-headed, accident-prone and Q was technically his superior. Didn’t matter. No, honestly, he wasn’t worried about that part. Well, okay, he was a _little_ worried about that part, but not nearly as worried as he was about the part where he was wearing the exact same jacket and trousers two days in a row. He’d been lucky enough to find a shirt in James’ closet that morning that mostly fit - for once he was thankful for his broad shoulders - and a tie.

He was borrowing James’ clothes.

Because he’d spent the night at James’ flat.

Because they’d fucked like the world was going to end.

Which it very well could if Q didn’t get his head out of his own arse long enough to actually get some goddamn work done.

Right.

Every pair of eyes that met his felt like a condemnation. Prestley nodding good morning, Bainbridge asking for clarification on a project, Brown delivering his morning mail. He was convinced they all knew. He was grateful for a relatively slow day where all that was required was sitting behind his desk managing various projects and tinkering with a bit of code.

But of course the calm couldn’t last all day. That would be too much to hope for.

A little after 1400, a strange hush fell over the bullpen and Q glanced up from his monitor and immediately wished he hadn’t.

James Bond strode into the branch like he owned it, grinning like the cat who’d got into the cream. Well the analogy wasn’t that far off. Q’s eyes went immediately back to his screens, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember what he’d been doing. So he sat there pretending to type, and praying that James wouldn’t cause too much of a scene.

“Good afternoon, Quartermaster,” James said, and oh god his voice sounded like chocolate.

“Good-- good afternoon, Double-Oh-Seven,” Q replied in his best imitation of professionalism. “What can I do for you?”

James’ eyebrow quirked, and Q knew exactly where the agent’s mind had gone to and he died just a little as he realized his choice of words would come back to bite him.

“Well, that’s a very interesting question. One I’d like to discuss further. Perhaps over dinner?”

Q felt the blush, his face was on fire. He had an irrational thought about retrieving the fire extinguisher - but then what? Beat the man over the head with it? Aim it at himself and put himself out of his misery? He could feel the needle-pricks of every eye in the bullpen aimed squarely at him. It was now or never. He put on his best disdainful face, regarded James as one would regard a slightly embarrassing stain on one’s sheets, and spoke.

“Seven o’clock. Chop House. You’ll need reservations, of course, but I’m sure you can manage.”

The hush in the bullpen grew even quieter, every boffin within earshot holding their breath.

James blinked, taken aback at Q’s imperious tone. His expression was extremely gratifying and Q wished he could take a photo and have it framed.

“Consider it done,” he said, and it was Q’s turn to be shocked. That was quite a bit of work he’d have to put in to make it happen. “Q.”

And the way his lips shaped that single syllable was sin made flesh and Q would have to remain seated at his desk for a very long time, now.

“Excellent,” Q managed.

James’ eyes rolled over Q’s clothes, and his smirk widened just a fraction.

“You know, it’s funny. I’m certain that jacket looked better on my floor last night. D’you think it might make a repeat performance?”

It was just loud enough for the boffins closest to Q’s to hear, damn him.

The room exploded into whispers, James winked at Q, Q was torn between being furious and rather admiring James’ chutzpah.

“Seven o’clock,” Q repeated, trying to maintain some level of decorum about his person, and failing miserably.

“It’s a date.”

Damn that man to hell.


	23. Day 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of Day 22  
> Contents: 00q, suit porn?
> 
> Warnings: none.

James beat down the roiling in his stomach for the third time. He wasn’t nervous, exactly, just eager to gauge Q’s reaction. He’d pulled all the strings he had left in London for this table. Right there on the Thames with a view of Tower Bridge - it was certainly a romantic notion, and Bond felt he’d learned something about Q that the man hadn’t wanted him to know in revealing his preference for dinner locations.

For once in his life, James was on time. He was shown to the table - the best they had, with a perfect view of the bridge - and handed the wine list.

And he waited.

Five minutes. James checked his watch. Five minutes wasn’t too bad, could have been traffic or a train delayed. Could have been a watch running slow.

Ten minutes. James set the wine list aside and wished with every fiber of his soul that he hadn’t quit smoking - not that he could at the table, but it would have given him an excuse to get up from the table and walk away without looking like a goddamn fool. He picked up the wine list again and the waiter walked by with a quirked eyebrow and a pitying smile. James’ hackles rose.

Thirteen and a half minutes after seven, Q appeared and James’ mouth went dry. Nobody at Six would ever believe him if he told the tale. Q was dressed in a forest green suit with contrasting lapels, his tie a fashionable grey with white diagonal stripes of varying widths that seemed to have a slight ombre to it, although James couldn’t tell much, as his jacket was buttoned. And, to finish off the look, bright saddle-leather oxfords with a brogue cap-toe.

His hair was just as wild as it usually was, but somehow in that sharply tailored suit it seemed purposeful instead of haphazard and his eyes sparkled brilliant emerald behind his glasses.

James stood up so fast he nearly knocked his chair over.

“I think we should skip right to dessert,” he said as Q took his seat.

“Oh?”

“You look good enough to eat.”


	24. Day 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents: 00q, masturbation, semi-public I guess?
> 
> Warnings: this one’s NSFW kids. VERY NSFW. This is the chapter that warranted the 'E' rating.

James sauntered into Q-branch. Mostly because he liked to saunter just about everywhere he went - it was more powerful than simply walking - but also because Q-branch was where he could find his very favorite Quartermaster. Although if directly asked, he’d never admit such a thing. He flirted with everyone, it was his MO, nobody needed to know that in the very deepest recesses of his soul he found Q’s awkward attempts at flirting back charming. 

He enjoyed the hush that fell over the bullpen when he entered. He enjoyed the frantic whispers that sprouted up behind him as he passed. Good or bad, a reputation at least meant you weren’t forgotten, anonymous. It was the little things.

Q wasn’t at his desk, though, and James frowned a little until one of the staffers squeaked out that Q’d gone to the automotive bays that morning with Hildebrand. So, James sauntered off towards the automotive bays.

He rounded the corner and stopped dead in his tracks.

Q leaned across the fender of one of the Astons, reaching for something James suddenly forgot the name of. Nor did it matter.

The man was stripped to the waist, and for the first time James saw what Q hid underneath three layers of cardigans: broad shoulders, well-defined arms, and abs for days. He never would have guessed. He swallowed, spun on his heel, and made a beeline for the gents.

He washed his hands, splashed water on his face, and tried to get his erection to behave itself - which it was stubbornly unwilling to do. Q reaching across that engine kept floating into his mind, stuck there on a loop, and he couldn’t help but wonder what it was like to touch those shoulders, brush his thumb across the dark peaks of Q’s nipples, taste the sweat collected in the crook of his neck.

There was no way.

James sat on the toilet. He leaned back, legs spread wide, and stared at the ceiling. He tried to clear his mind, think of anything else, but it wasn’t working. Q kept swimming to the surface in his mind’s eye, eventually his imagination supplied a bed for Q to sprawl out on, and by instinct James palmed his cock through his trousers.

It was a ridiculous, juvenile thing to do. He knew that. But the more he tried to push it away, the more he couldn’t help thinking about how Q’s skin would feel against his, Q’s imagined cock slotting into place beside his as they ground against one another.

James unzipped and eased his nearly-painful erection out, sliding his hand over the length experimentally. He shuddered. He hadn’t been this horny in longer than he cared to investigate at the moment, and as his thumb slid over the slit of his cock, he bit back a moan. And now it wasn’t just imagining Q laid out beneath him, it was Q’s mouth on his cock, Q’s mischievous eyes meeting his through dark lashes as he swallowed James’ length.

This time, he couldn’t hold back the moan, his hand moving faster and faster over his cock --

The door opened. This was a single occupancy toilet and James had neglected to lock the door.

It was too late, James was past the point of no return, and as the person stepped into the toilet, James came with a muffled grunt.

And there stood Q, put back together in an olive patterned dress shirt and knitted tie, cool as you please, except for the crimson blush staining his cheeks.

He backed out as quickly as he’d come in. Neither of them had time for a single word.

***

“I… I wanted to apologize. For the other day. You know.”

James thought about playing dumb, but decided for once to take pity on Q - besides, it was probably not on to be caught wanking in the loo to thoughts of your Quartermaster, no matter how gorgeous a specimen he was.

“Well, normal people knock first,” James said. He leaned in close, close enough to catch a whiff of Q’s aftershave, and his cock stirred with interest. “But when Quartermasters wander around half-naked, what’s a poor agent to do, really?”

Q pulled back, blinked at James, and his cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink.

“Oh.”

“Mm. I was hoping next time wouldn’t be a solo performance?”

Q’s cheeks brightened another few shades, but he shook his head.

“Normal people at least go to dinner first.”

James smirked and leaned back again.

“I think that can be arranged.”


	25. Day 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents: 00q, domestic fluff
> 
> Warnings: May Induce Cavities, references to rimming (do I need to warn for that?)

Q woke to light filtering through unfamiliar curtains, cotton sateen sheets covering his body that were definitely a higher thread-count than he thought necessary for himself, and a luxurious warmth at his back that shifted as he rolled over.

“Good morning.”

Q blinked back the rest of his doze and smiled into ice-blue eyes.

“Good morning yourself. What time is it?”

“Does it matter?” Bond asked, threading his fingers through Q’s hair.

Q wanted to say no, not really, he could call it in today and have a lie-in, but that would be a disaster - there were two other agents in the field and a budgetary meeting in three days. Too much to do. 

He leaned into the touch as he explained, and Bond heaved a sigh.

“No rest for the wicked.”

Q laughed and extracted himself from the bed reluctantly.

The impromptu morning together was welcome, although slightly awkward. He hadn’t meant to spend the night, really, but Bond had been so comfortable after, warm and… not soft, exactly, but it was the only word that Q could think of to describe Bond after sex. He was still all hard muscle, but there was a pliancy to him that Q found enchanting and he’d drifted off almost immediately.

Apparently Bond hadn’t minded, because here they were.

Did Bond keep tea? Or muffins, for that matter, or strawberry jam?

Q felt he should know details like this before sleeping next to someone, but somehow the finer points of their lives hadn’t seemed all that important in the two months since they’d started fucking.

Well, it had started as fucking, certainly. But now it had shifted into something that wasn’t quite fucking but wasn’t what Q considered ‘making love’ either - not that he’d ever really appreciated that euphemism. 

But this was the first time he’d allowed himself to drift off to sleep in Bond’s bed, and the fact that Bond had let him meant something. Right? Q glanced over his shoulder as he left the bedroom for the loo, and caught Bond watching him. There was a gentleness in his eyes that Q had never seen before, and for the first time Q felt as if he were seeing underneath all the bravado and posturing - seeing the man behind the number.

It only lasted for a split second, but in that moment Q knew that yes, indeed, whatever this was - whatever it was going to become - meant as much to Bond as it did to him.

“Are you coming, or am I going to have to shower alone?” Q asked, winking, allowing Bond to put his swagger back into place.

“Showering alone is terribly overrated.”

***

Forty-five minutes later, Q pulled one of the towels off the bar beside the shower and handed it to James, who dried off, then left the blasted thing draped around his neck, the bloody show-off. Q respectably wrapped his own towel - well, the one he was using - around his waist and…

“Oh, buggering fuck.”

James turned, his face half-covered in shaving cream, one eyebrow raised in silent query.

“I don’t have a toothbrush,” Q explained.

“You can use mine, if you want,” Bond said nonchalantly, as if sharing a toothbrush was as commonplace as sharing a pen.

“What? No. Ew.”

“Q,” Bond said, turning fully to face him. “You just had your tongue up my arse. I don’t think sharing a toothbrush is any more invasive than that.”

“Yes, but…” Q started. It was a good point, and one that was nearly impossible to refute, but there was something different about sharing a toothbrush…

“Or you can go into the office in yesterday’s clothes _and_ with morning breath.”

Q glared at him and stalked to the sink, bumping James to the side with his hip.

“Give me the damn toothbrush.”


	26. Day 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents: 00q, Q-branch sabotage, disgruntled employees
> 
> Warnings: canon typical violence, suspense

“At about waist-level, you’ll see a switch, I think,” Q says, speaking to Bond over the comm.

Bond on mission is equal parts focused intensity, snark, and improvisation. It’s been a wild ride for Q learning how to roll with his punches. But also entirely worth it--

“Mm. Something else I’d like to have at waist level.”

\--for the perks of the job. Namely dating one James Bond, 007.

He’s well aware that not everyone would consider this a perk. High likelihood of tragic endings, package deal with traumatic stress disorder. But what they don’t know, and Q does, is that the insufferable menace of 007 isn’t all he is. 

“Finish the mission and bring back your equipment and maybe there will be something waiting for you at waist level,” Q replies.

“I hope it’s pink,” James returns, and Q can hear the smirk in his voice.

“You’ll have to wait and find out. Did you find the switch?”

“Flipped. Nothing happened.”

Q frowns. That switch should have powered down the external cooling system. He scans the schematics he’d retrieved weeks ago and swears.

“Problem?”

“There’s a backup system. It’s on the other side of the building.”

“I could have told you that,” Bond says.

“Shut up. Look, I think you can work around it--”

Q talks Bond through shorting out the system without actually blowing it up, and the agent does an admirable job. A job made much easier, of course, by the fact that this is a nearly-abandoned server farm and Bond has already incapacitated the two guards.

It had taken months of following traces almost too small to notice, but once Q had gotten the grains of rice lined up, he’d discovered that the bulk of the organization’s transactions flowed right through a server farm under a parking garage in New Delhi. Not exactly a target they could just blow up. And besides, if Q could hitch a ride on some of the outgoing packets…

So, 007 was sent out. In theory it was a simple mission, but Q knew how simple missions tended to become complicated and require explosions in Bond’s case, so he wasn’t holding out hope that this particular suburb of New Delhi would remain unscathed.

However, so far, so good. So maybe, for once in his life, Bond would get in, get out, and bring himself and his equipment back in one piece.

“Alright. The failsafe should have triggered, you should be able to access the machines now,” Q says, pulling up the external surveillance to make sure Bond is still within acceptable threat range. The streets appeared just as peaceful as ever.

“You’re sure the door’s unlocked this time?”

“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you.”

“You nearly get hit by a train and see if you forget.”

“But you don’t have to bring it up every---”

A burst of static interrupts Q. Simultaneously, every light in Q-branch, every screen, even the emergency back-ups go dead. Q branch is plunged into inky blackness.

“Bond?” Q calls, uselessly. The comm is, like everything else, completely dead.

The branch descends into pandemonium. Q’s main objective shifts to restoring some kind of order to his office. He sticks finger and thumb into his mouth and whistles. Silence falls.

***

A deafening shriek blasts out of Bond’s comm, and he pulls it out of his ear and stars at it. He tucks it back into place.

“Q?”

No response.

“Q?” he tried, a little louder.

Silence.

“Shit.”

Bond throws the earpiece on the ground and crushes it beneath his heel. So much for bringing equipment back. But Bond has never been on a mission where his equipment malfunctioned - not while Q has been head of the department - and something twinges in the back of his mind.

He makes his way by memory back to the armored door of the interior of the server farm and it opens, just as Q promised. The entire room is floor-to-ceiling flashing lights and tangled wires, and Bond sighs. Q’s no good in the field, Bond knows that, with his fear of flying and other assorted personality quirks - most of which Bond finds oddly charming - but he’s always in his ear, guiding him through whatever disaster he’s found himself in this time.

There’s a very big part of Bond that wants to set his watch - a personal birthday gift from Q - in the middle of the room and beat a hasty retreat. But another, larger part of him knows that Q is counting on the intel he’ll get from whatever Bond has on the tiny speck of plastic Q handed him when he left.

Bond pulls the case out of his pocket, along with an adapter, and starts scanning the aisles for something that looks like he should be able to plug into.

It doesn’t take long, actually, to find an out-of-the-way spot to plug in, insert the plastic chip into the adapter, and tuck it away. Unless someone were looking for it and knew where to look, it would live there quite happily for some time. Without any further instructions, Bond has to assume that the thing will do its work itself, and finds his way up and out of the server farm, none the worse for wear.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials Q.

No answer.

The twinge in the back of his mind when his earpiece shrieked becomes a full-blown niggling, and as he in turn tries Moneypenny, M, and Tanner with equal success, the niggling becomes a suspicion and then a certainty that something has gone wrong in London.

As a last-ditch effort, he calls Tanner’s wife.

“Hello?”

It’s her. Bond’s shoulders relax a fraction.

“Hello, Moira. This is James.”

“Oh, hi, James. What’s up?”

“Is Bill around? He’s not answering his phone.”

“No, he’s at work. I just talked to him fifteen minutes ago - told him to bring milk home.”

“Oh, well, I suppose he’s just in a meeting then,” Bond lies, his hackles rising. He’s looking at a 10-hour flight to get home, plus however long it took him to get to and from the airport, and chafing at the thought.

“Probably. Next Thursday is your golf round, right?”

“Hm?” Bond had been thinking about logistics of travel and had barely heard her. “Oh. Yes. That’s right. At Sunbury, I think. A full round.”

“Of course it is. Start early, will you? I need him home for dinner.”

Bond smirks as he flags down a cab. “Beatrice coming over, is she?”

“Like I’d tell you. You’d putt the 19th hole for three hours.”

“I like to help out a friend when I can.”

“You’re awful, James!” Moira says, laughing. “See you next Thursday.”

“Bye, Moira.”

Bond tucks the phone back into his pocket, and not for the first time wishes that Q had invented teleporting.

***

By memory and feel, Q makes his way slowly around his desk and along the back wall of the bullpen to a small trapdoor.

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.” The voice floats out of the inky blackness and Q hears several audible gasps.

“Higgins. I’m only going to re-start the emergency generators. You’ve already done your damage, at least let’s have some light.”

“H-how did you--” And for a split second, Q thinks that Higgins will just give up. Q takes the opportunity to open the panel and fumble for the handle. “Don’t do it! I’ll shoot you!”

Q closes his eyes, even though there’s nothing to shut out, and takes a deep breath.

“What are you doing, Higgins? You’re in the middle of Six. How long do you think you’ve got?” Keep him talking. Just keep him talking, the longer he stands there talking the longer security has to---

Q freezes. Security couldn’t get in. It was one of his own personal failsafes, though he never thought he’d actually have it triggered. In the event of a complete power outage, every single door in Q-branch locked. And he had personally seen to the composite steel bolts himself. It would take security an hour or more to cut through them - if they weren’t too busy controlling chaos elsewhere in the building.

“What am I doing?” Higgins chuckles, his voice pitching a little manic. “I’m having a little revenge, Quartermaster! Did you really think you could relegate me to obscurity, with your little coding projects and your patches? Did you really think I’d let you?” Higgins laughs, and Q hears him start to move. He must have FLIR goggles, because standard night-vision wouldn’t work in the complete darkness that Q-branch had been plunged into.

“Well, you got the drop on us Higgins. What did you use, an EMP?”

Higgins giggles. Q hears him walk across the floor, and then there’s a crash and a scream from near Robinson’s desk.

“Painfully simple, really. What use is a lab constructed as a Faraday cage if the pulse comes from _inside_?” 

A few more steps, another crash, a muffled shout of panic.

“Truly brilliant, I’ll admit. What’s next? Now that you’ve got your revenge on us, what’s next?”

The footsteps stop.

“Why, so you can tell your part-time boyfriend my plans and sic him on me when he gets home?”

Q bites down on a retort - it’ll only make the situation worse and it’s already bad. But the damage is done, because Q remembers that James is in the field with zero backup and no way to ask for any. Q pictures explosions, gunfire, get-away chases, narrowly slipping into the airport ahead of pursuers. He has to get the branch back to some semblance of operation, even if he has to move the entire thing to Whitehall and run it on M’s personal mobile - which as far as Q knows is three years out of date and has little more functionality than a flip-phone.

The footsteps start up again, headed away, and Q takes the opportunity to slide his hand over the breaker switch and get a good grip on it. He takes a deep, silent breath and pulls the handle down as quickly as he can. There’s a clunk and a whoosh… and nothing.

“Buggering fuck,” Q mutters. Of course the backup lighting would have been knocked out - Q had never planned for the EMP to be activated inside the branch. Well, he’d fix that on his next round of improvements, if he ever got to make them.

“Oh, sorry, did you think I wouldn’t know to cut the backup emergency generator?” Higgins is back in his element - thinking he’s superior. But Q might have a small surprise for him, after all. He leans back against the panel, as though defeated, letting his left hand drift slowly, ever so slowly, back and under the breaker panel.

Higgins may have fried the circuits, but the wires were still live. If only he could… Q grins in the dark as he slowly begins unseating the feed wire from the breaker box. It would be tough in the dark to keep from electrocuting himself - he can’t see which wire is which - but if he plays his cards just right he won’t have to.

“You’ve thought of everything,” Q admits. “But you still haven’t told me how you’re getting out of here. The doors are all locked.”

“I have a little trick up my sleeve,” Higgins coos, really starting to get into it now that he feels he’s truly won.

“Oh really?” Almost there - just another minute or so and then Q will have it separated.

“Restore full electrical current to the lock and it disengages. Easy when you have a shielded, modified portable power bank.” Higgins’ footsteps are coming closer again, and Q honestly prays for the first time in his life that he’s got the distances calculated correctly in his head, because otherwise they’re all fucked.

“That’s ingenious, actually.”

“I know, I was wasted as a code patcher, honestly. Should have been in R and D. But I was passed over _so many times_. I’d had enough. And now you’ll have enough too.”

Three more footfalls, and Q can nearly feel Higgins looming over him. The cable comes free just as Higgins comes to a stop, and Q lunges, shoving the bare wires through Higgins’ trouser leg and into his flesh. Sparks fly and a bizarre purple glow sort of surrounds where Q has the cable shoved against Higgins’ leg. Q pulls back and Higgins falls, and then Q shoves the wires against Higgins one more time for good measure.

He only stops when he can smell the stench of burning polyester and hair.

Higgins is dead, and Q falls back against the wall and breathes.

***

Bond’s nerves are shot to hell when he lands. He’s had ten hours in the air to imagine every worst-case scenario, and all of them end with Q’s lifeless eyes staring up at him from the floor of Q-branch.

As soon as the wheels of the airplane touch down, he’s on his phone, trying every number he has - Q first.

The boffin picks up on the third ring.

“You’re alive,” Bond says first thing, and the relief is instantaneous. He nearly falls back into his seat as he queues for disembarking. “What happened?”

Q’s voice is shaky, but he laughs. “You’d hardly believe me if I told you.”


	27. Day 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents: Family!00Q, OC 00Q child
> 
> Warnings: TBI, PTSD, Angst, Blackout – this is not a cute happy family fic, if you couldn’t tell. Not physical abuse, though.

“You need to leave,” Q says.

He holds Olivia tight to his chest, and she’s screaming. Oh, god, she’s screaming and James doesn’t remember why.

“I love you, James, but you scared her - and me - and I don’t want us to be afraid.”

“What---”

Q sighs, bounces Olivia a little to try and calm her.

“You don’t remember.”

“No.” 

“Brain injuries… I should have been prepared…” Q looks as though he’s on the verge of tears.

“What did I do?” James is afraid to ask, but he has to know. Has to know why their daughter is sniffling into Q’s neck, why Q is asking him to leave. Why they both flinch when he steps towards them.

Q doesn’t want to say, it’s clear on his face that he would be fine never talking about it again, but he doesn’t look away, and his words are clear and crisp.

“Go look at the telly in the den.”

James has never felt such an aversion to entering a room - his heart squeezes.

The television sits on its stand, the screen is cracked. It looks like a spiderweb, James thinks incongruously. He looks down at his hands, then, and realizes that one of his knuckles is bleeding, and everything falls into terrible place.

He doesn’t know why. Perhaps there is no why. Perhaps there never could be a why for him anymore. But he knows now that Q is afraid - afraid of _him_. And he doesn’t want that, doesn’t want Olivia to cringe away from him, and he can feel the frustration and self-hatred welling up with hot claws scratching at his chest.

He walks carefully back into the kitchen, gives Q a long glance full of regret, and steps out into the bright, chastising light of mid-afternoon.

There is no pretending anymore, no glossing over hours he doesn’t remember, days that hang, hazy and misshapen, in his memory. Q deserves someone whole, and Olivia deserves better than anything he has to give.

He shoves his hands into his pockets and walks away from the only family he’d hoped to have.


	28. Day 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents: James/Vesper, missing?scene/reimagined?scene, anyway, this is super short but it feels like it should have happened.
> 
> Warnings: Casino Royale feels

For the third day in a row, James woke slowly, luxuriously, smiling. The Venice sun streamed in through the windows of the posh suite he’d hired and Vesper dozed on the pillow beside him, her brows drawn together in sleep, as though she were troubled. Perhaps a bad dream - recalling the fight in the casino or who knows what else. There was plenty in the past days to give anyone bad dreams.

He smoothed his thumb between her brows and they relaxed as she slowly opened her eyes and blinked up at him, a smile blossoming across her face.

“Good morning,” James murmured and leaned in to kiss her perfect lips. He hadn’t been exaggerating - she truly was all he ever wanted to drink.

“Already?” she asked as he pulled away. “I feel as though I’d only gone to sleep a moment ago.”

“We’ve nowhere we have to be today.”

She stretched, her hands coming to rest at the back of James’ neck, pulling him in for another morning kiss.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” she mused. 

James smirked. “Why not?”

Instead of an answer, she merely smiled that radiant smile and kissed him again.


	29. Day 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents: 00q, Q in danger but not like actual peril, banter, James doing what James does
> 
> Warnings: One (1) Dad Joke

“Don’t do this.”

Q stands in the middle of his sitting room, arms crossed over his chest. The effect would be vaguely intimidating if he wasn’t half-naked with giant striped woolly socks slouched around his ankles.

“I knew this would happen, and now that it has, I have to protect you.” 

“And what, you’re going to do that by _leaving me alone_ , and go running off half-cocked after this guy...why?”

Q isn’t giving an inch, and James is chafing to go. Every minute they waste is one that Trevor has to plot, to plan. And James doesn’t want to give the bastard any more time than necessary.

“You won’t be alone. I’m taking you to Six.”

“Oh, yes, good. Excellent. Traipse me all across the city - no security, no backup. Can you think this through for thirty seconds before you go gallivanting across the city, please?”

“Then what do you suggest?” James spits, fingers itching to draw the Walther from his holster and run out into the city and chase this arsehole down.

“You, dearest, are the only one who’s managed to get past my security alive, and that’s because you had the good sense to try and break in when I wasn’t home and I’d already programmed the scanners to recognize you. I do read the personnel files. M was very thorough.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. Oh. This flat is probably the safest place in London. So here’s what we’re going to do: I’m going to start tapping into Six’s assets and see if we can get a bead on this Roger Trevor and you’re going to call Bill.”

“And what am I going to call him?” James asks, smirking.

Q rolls his eyes.

“Your dad jokes have aged even worse than you. You’re going to tell him to dispatch a couple of top agents and when they get here, you can go running through the city to your heart’s content.”

James chuckles and kisses Q on the cheek.

“Genius.” 


	30. Day 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents: 00q, is this a Canadian Shack fic? It might be. Anyway, Q and James are on holiday and it doesn’t quite go as planned.
> 
> Warnings: none really…

It was supposed to be a pleasant holiday in the Swiss Alps. It was supposed to be an opportunity to teach Q to ski, cuddle up in front of the fire, sip hot cocoa spiked with peppermint schnapps. 

That’s what it was supposed to be.

That is not what it was.

“‘Luxury Resort’ you said,” Q groused as he pulled pillows out of the cupboard next to the bed. “‘Your every desire catered to!’ James, this god-forsaken shack doesn’t even have _wi-fi_.”

James had to admit that the cabin was a _bit_ more rustic than he’d been intending. As in, build-your-own-fire heating and definitely no room-service. Luckily the kitchenette came stocked with the basics, but Q was having none of it.

“It’s only for tonight, darling,” James tried to soothe. Q leveled his best death-glare at James and continued pulling blankets and more blankets out of the closet. “Luxury resort first thing tomorrow.”

Q made a noise of utter disgust and began throwing all the extra bedding onto the double bed across the room from the open fireplace. James had immediately built a fire, of course, but there was still a chill in the room. Q still had his parka zipped up to his chin.

Dinner was filling if not 5-star dining quality. James did his best, but there’s only so much you can do with canned beans, two burners and sub-par pans. Q ate silently, glaring at James the entire dinner, and James started to feel a bit sheepish about the subterfuge. He’d just wanted some uninterrupted time with Q - something he didn’t get a lot of in London.

“The view is gorgeous,” James tried, nodding to the full, floor-to-ceiling plate-glass window that overlooked the valley with a tiny village nestled in the bottom. “Lauterbrunnen is gorgeous this time of year, isn’t it?”

The village was laid out beneath them under a blanket of snow, the lights glowing invitingly in the dark.

“It’d be more gorgeous from the balcony of a five-star hotel.” Q’s words were cold and bit at James’ already bruised ego. Q wasn’t going to let this go so easily.

“You can’t get this view from a five-star hotel. Only here… I thought you’d appreciate it.”

Q sighed and he pulled his blanket more firmly around his shoulders. He hadn’t been without it since they’d arrived, no matter how high James stoked the fire. 

“It is pretty,” he admitted. 

“You know, the name of the town means ‘many fountains.’”

Q hummed noncommittally and shoved another bite of food into his mouth.

James pursed his lips, wondering what on earth could get Q to relent, at least enough to kiss him goodnight. At this rate he was certain he’d be on the sofa regardless.

“We used to go hiking here in the summer sometimes. My father and I. I must have only been six or eight, but I remember finding all these waterfalls and asking if I’d discovered a new one every single time. About the twelfth time I asked, Da relented and told me I had - I’m sure it wasn’t true, but I was pleased as punch to have done it - and promptly named it ‘Bond Falls.’ Bizarrely apropos, as it turned out.” James paused, contemplated his beans. The only reason he’d even wanted to come here was so he could let go of some of that history - if he had new memories here perhaps the past wouldn’t sting quite so deep. Q shifted in his chair, and James pulled himself out of the self-reflection. “Well, anyway, I just--”

“You could have just told me,” Q interrupted.

James looked up, and Q was contemplating him in that way he had that stripped him of all artifice.

“You could have just said, ‘Q, we’re going to this little town where I used to go on holiday with my family and it’s going to be a bit rustic’ instead of this rigamarole about ski resorts. I know it’s habit, James, but-- I guess… I’m not mad that it’s rustic so much as I’m upset that you didn’t just tell me. Does that makes sense?”

And suddenly it smacked James in the face like a brick at terminal velocity: he’d lied to Q. Flat-out misled him. And it wasn’t done maliciously or with ill intent, but it had been a lie all the same and his appetite suddenly vanished.

“Oh, don’t look like that,” Q said, and waved his hand at James across the table. “You’re forgiven. There. But talk to me next time, yeah?”

James nodded, smiled, and reached for Q’s offered hand and squeezed.

“Thank you, Q.”

“You are completely ridiculous, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.”

***

It was some time in the middle of the night that James woke shivering. The fire had all but died, and it was nearly cold enough in the cabin to see his breath. James rolled off his side of the bed and tried to pull a blanket around himself to go stoke the fire again, but all of them were wrapped around Q, over, under, the only part of him that was visible was the top of his head.

“Simon,” James whispered, tugging on the top-most blanket. “Simon, wake up, you’re hogging all the blankets.”

“Mmmmfffffrmg,” came the reply, but the blanket in question was relinquished, James stoked the fire until it was crackling merrily again, and then returned to bed.

He took his time as he unwrapped Q. He coaxed each blanket out of the death-grip Q had on them and laid them neatly at the end of the bed, then slipped in and wrapped an arm around Q’s middle, pulling him tight against his chest.

He carefully arranged the blankets over the both of them, pressed his nose against the back of Q’s neck, and drifted back to sound, dreamless sleep.


	31. Day 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents: 00q ridiculousness
> 
> Warnings: none

James sits behind the half-wall, breathing hard. He’d been expecting a fight, but he hadn’t been expecting one this tough.

“Do you yield?”

The call comes from across the no-man’s-land between the two. His opponent is holed up inside a concrete drain pipe and the space makes his voice echo strangely.

“Not on your life!” James calls back. He takes three more seconds to catch his breath, then bursts out from behind the wall, firing as he goes.

_Pop, pop, pop_ \- three shots in and James’ chest is covered in bright blue paint. He hadn’t even seen Q emerge from the pipe.

He stops and stands to his full height and drops his paintball gun.

“Alright, Q, you win.”

“Again,” Q says, stepping out from behind a hedgerow twenty feet from where James had pegged him.

“You used a speaker.”

Q grins. “I used a speaker.”

“I’d say that’s cheating, but that’s not really the point.”

“Of course it’s the point. Why should I play by the rules when I know I’m going to die if I do?”

***

After dinner, James flops into the sofa and flips on the telly. He’s nursing a trio of bruises on his chest from the afternoon’s session.

Q pads over and tries to curl up in James’ lap as is their custom in the evenings when James is home and the world isn’t falling down around their ears.

James hisses and pushes Q back.

“Don’t touch me.”

Q bites down a chuckle and settles for squeezing in beside James instead of on top of him.

“Don’t be sore,” he murmurs, and James groans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank Castillon02 for organizing the fest this year, along with brookebond and amottledrose for being great team captains for TEAM 00! The fest was super fun, and I had a wonderful time! <3


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